


all of you, all of me, intertwined

by MissShipper



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Comfort Sex, Episode: s08e04 The Last of the Starks, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Jon is leaving to King's Landing, Mainly focused on her emotions though, Not Beta Read, Sansa thinks they have unfinished business, Well it's set between the events of this episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-11-01 23:43:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20548145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissShipper/pseuds/MissShipper
Summary: This is how it’s supposed to begin: she passes through him, closes the door, and walks past the anteroom into her bedchamber. He follows her, never saying a word, too afraid to say anything. And this is not real, it can’t be real. This night is only in her imagination. He is the only one she trusts, it’s been a long time coming, and Jon knows that: when he followed her, it was a silent agreement.But Sansa can’t move her legs, and Jon wants to talk.Or, Jon is soon leaving to King's Landing. Sansa decides that they have to solve one thing first. Late in the night. In her chambers.





	all of you, all of me, intertwined

> Threw out our cloaks and our daggers because it's morning now,
> 
> It's brighter now.

He catches her glance from across the room. It’s one of the looks that she only shoots at him when they share secret moments and nobody in a crowded room seems to notice. It’s a look that says that she needs to speak with him alone. She knows that she’s not supposed to, that it’s best if he stays and celebrates the victory with his people, but she needs him, and she knows that he won’t say no. Not when they’ve been strangers in their own home for days now. He will do anything to make up for his behaviour. 

So when Sansa excuses herself from the Great Hall, he follows her not long after. She is looking through the window when he approaches her body and settles next to her. 

“It’s crazy to think that these walls could have been torn apart in the blink of an eye,” she starts, taking a deep breath. She doesn’t look at him; not yet, not yet, not yet. But soon she will find his eyes, and she’s going to be brave, and she’s going to do what she came here for. 

“The North will remain strong,” Jon says, and his voice is hoarse, low and uncertain. But maybe he knows what this conversation means. Maybe he knows what she wants, asking for a private meeting at her solar before he leaves for good. He is a man, after all; Jon is not naive. And yet, he came. Only for Sansa -- Always for Sansa. “So is Winterfell.” 

“We don’t know that,” Sansa whispers, but is grateful nonetheless for his positive words. 

“It will, Sansa,” he takes her hand and only now she realizes that she’s trembling. But between her palms, Jon is warm. He’s always been. She turns her head, finally staring at him, and his eyes are glossy and dark. He knows what this is about. “It will.” 

She gulps, then nods. This is how it’s supposed to begin: she passes through him, closes the door, and walks past the anteroom into her bedchamber. He follows her, never saying a word, too afraid to say anything. And this is not real, it can’t be real. This night is only in her imagination. He is the only one she trusts, it’s been a long time coming, and Jon knows that: when he followed her, it was a silent agreement. 

But Sansa can’t move her legs, and Jon wants to talk. 

“I’m sorry that I’ve been absent,” she can see the truth behind his dark grey eyes. It doesn’t mean that it hurts any less. “And thank you for taking care of the North so well while I was gone.” 

“Of course,” she appreciates his gratitude a bit more than she should — It’s not that she seeks his approval, she knows that she is a good lady, but it’s nice to be recognized by Jon of all people. “It’s a part of me, too.” 

He scowls for a bit, as if her phrasing took him unguarded. But then the corner of his lips twitch in a tiny smile, and her heart skips a beat. Because it’s honest, and it’s been a while since he truly smiled at her. She squeezes his hand between her own, taking courage from his touch, and goes to close the door, pressing her back against it to steady her shivering body. 

Jon stands still by the window, but his breath is heavy like a winter storm, heavy like the air hanging between them. Heavy like the anticipation of what is going to happen now that Sansa let her intentions clear. The sound of the wood on rock lingers through the space of her anteroom. It lingers through their minds. 

She turns on her heel only to find him staring at the ground. Suddenly, she doesn’t know if this is a good idea anymore. Maybe she had misread his words, his longing looks, the gentleness of his hands when he touches her. Maybe his affections didn’t run as deep as her own. Maybe he only loved her like family. 

But still, she’s certain that she’s seen want -- when his eyes travelled from her eyes to her lips, they would darken, and his cheeks would flush when he realized that she had noticed. She’s certain that he’s seen the way she licks her lips when he looks at her the way a man looks at a woman. 

They don’t speak of any of this. They don’t have to courage to openly discuss _whatever_ this is. Discussing would mean acknowledging that this is wrong in so many ways. And neither of them would want that. 

Just to be sure, Sansa manages to say, seeking his confirmation, “I don’t want your pity.” 

He lifts his head and shots a heated glance at her. “We both know that this is not happening out of pity,” he says, and the sound of his voice is intense. Trying to prove his point, he repeats, “I’m leaving soon, and we both know that this is not happening out of pity.” 

(It’s happening out of love.) 

She is glad that he’s careful with his words. She doesn’t want any confession; it’s all between the lines. It’s better this way. If either of them confesses anything, they both know that they won’t be able to let each other go. So, silently, Sansa walks to her anteroom table, pours them some wine, then maps her next actions quickly in her mind. She stretches her arm, handing him a glass. Their fingers brush for an instant, and it’s all the signal her body needs to burn beneath his touch. 

Jon drinks the wine in one go; she does the same. He wipes the corner of her lips with his thumb, casually caressing her skin. Sansa opens her mouth slightly, the tip of her tongue softly swirling around his finger, and he groans in response. 

His eyes are dark, and she never looks away. 

The hands of the man she loves are large and warm when he catches her face between his palms. And then it happens painfully slowly: she closes her indigo eyes, and after what feels like an eternity, he finally closes the distance between them. 

The first touch of his lips leaves a mark on her. He kisses her passionately, savouring every bit of her pink mouth on his full lips. Jon pulls away, but she keeps her eyes closed, licks her lips and waits. He exhales a laugh, then kisses her again. Only this time, she welcomes him with open lips, and tongue, and hands that can’t settle anywhere. 

She thinks of her childhood dreams, of how she wondered about how it would feel, to be kissed by someone that you love, but none of her favourite dreams got close to this. Kissing him was better than any of her favourite songs. 

Arms that are strong, touches that are kind, lips that are sweet. He was loving her, loving her, loving her the way she’s always wanted; willingly and recklessly. He loves her like it is the best thing he’s ever done in his entire life. 

So she gives in. She gives everything. She wants to feel this electricity in every part of her body. 

(She wants him with every part of her soul.) 

Guiding her to the wall, his lips find her neck, and merciful cries fall from her mouth along with brows furrowed in desire. He sucks just on the right spot, with the perfect amount of pressure as his hips move against her own. Sansa spreads her legs, giving him the space he’s seeking. And it’s good, the kind of good that leaves you wanting for more. 

She grabs his head, fire rising and rising and rising through her body, and clashes her lips on his once again, all desperate and lustful, where there’s no room for regret. He answers her with the same eager, moving his lips with hunger and need. Sansa tugs her nails on his scalp, making Jon groan once again, then lets go of the small bun. She wants him wild and free -- with nothing holding him back. 

The world is intense around them, she’s surrounded by uncertainty. But this - lips moving together, his body tightly pressed on her own, his hands on her hips and thighs -, is the one thing that makes sense in the middle of chaos. 

She parts the steamy kiss to look at him, freeing the breath that was being held captive by her lungs, and his eyes are brave, and gentle, and strong. He elates everything she holds dear. Clutching his chest, happiness storms out of her body in a bubble of giggles that she makes no effort to suppress. He smiles at her because he understands. 

(It’s brighter now. This love is the afterglow.) 

They lock their gazes for a few moments, and suddenly she feels shy because of the intimacy, even though he is the only one who she really trusts. Taking a deep breath, she takes his hand and leads him to her bedchamber. The room is lit by a few candles, the orange of the flames enhancing the expression on his face. He seems mesmerized by her, all of his attention on her face, waiting for the next move. She was the one setting the pace, and he respected that. 

Standing close next to each other in front of the bed, she turns his back to him, suggesting that he unlances her grey gown. Shaking from anticipation, her body stiffens when he gently brushes her red locks aside to start undoing her dress. He takes his time, kissing the crook of her neck softly when she steps out of the thick fabric. Only in her white, thin shift now, she turns her body to face him again. Jon watches carefully when her fingers start to undo the buttons of his jerkin, followed by his undershirt. His eyes are worried when she observes his scars, touching them softly. But her eyes are warm and tender. 

“It’s okay,” she whispers, placing her hands on his naked torso. “I have a lot of them, too.” 

He takes one step closer, holding her by her waist, and searches for her lips again. Sansa places one hand on his neck, kissing him back, and keeps smoothing his chest. He takes her lower lip between his teeth and she lets out a breathy moan, sobbing her approval on his mouth. He tightens his grip on her waist, hands travelling down to her butt, squeezing her ass-cheeks. Her nails dig into his skin, and Jon parts the kiss with a heavy breath. 

She can feel the moist pulsing between her legs, and as if he can smell her arousal, his hands push her shift up. He starts to trace different patterns on her inner thighs, then he touches right there, where she needs the most, and her body jumps in response. She kisses his jaw, and then his lobe, trying to steady herself on his arms as his fingers move in a rhythm she’s been seeking her whole life. 

Heavy breaths and moans to his ear, he leads her to the bed. Waiting for him to take off his shoes, Sansa lets go of her shift in the process. She lays on her bed, naked as her name day, ready, so very ready to feel the weight of his body above of her. He is taken aback by the sight, and soon she can feel him everywhere. His hands cupping her breasts, then her hips, and thighs; his mouth leaving open-mouthed and wet kisses along her face, her jaw, and neck. His growing cock pressing through her cunt, desperately waiting to be set free out of his breeches. 

“Beautiful,” he mumbles, licking her cleavage, then her breasts, then her stomach. “So beautiful,” Jon repeats, treating her skin with suavity and so much love. He presses soft kisses on every scar that his mouth crossed path with; from the one right above her hip bone, to the one she hated the most, large and ugly between her thighs. She moans quietly, her eyes shut, feeling dizzy from his touches. Only when he positions himself between her legs and looks up to her face, is when she opens her eyes. “I will make this good for you, Sansa. I promise.” 

She nods, and takes in a sharp breath as she watches his mouth close, and then open, and then close again against her wet cunt. He closes his eyes as he kisses her, his tongue finding the sweet bundle of nerves that make her shiver, his finger slowly parting her folds and entering her. And all she knows is that his touch is soft, warm and kind. He licks, and sucks, then whisper to her, _ just let it go, _and soon she is floating, and floating, and floating -- 

She floats to the edge of the universe like she’s never been afraid of freedom; she steps into a golden sky, opening the caves inside of her body as if she’s finally allowing herself to exist outside of her cold mask. She’s been dancing around the dangerous lines of survival for what seems to be an endless dark night, but his touch sets her free. She doesn’t want to be a hostage of her mysteries any longer. She is alive, and she wants to live, and shine, and love, and love, and love him. She wants to love him in the daylight, and inside of her room. 

(After this, things will never be the same.) 

“Jon,” she moans, her chest going up and down in hurried breath. He is softening the skin of her legs, watching her peak with a devilish grin on his face. His lips are swollen, and she wants to make it good for him, too. “Jon,” Sansa calls him now, and he props his elbows on the mattress, moving up to her lazily. Close and intimate, he is pretty, too pretty, and she feels like crying because he’s here, loving her in a way that she was sure only existed in songs. 

Her long fingers touch his beard and lips, wet from her, then she leans in and kisses him. Now that she’s known what a real kiss feels like, she never wants to stop. He moans against her lips when she wraps her legs on his hips, promoting a delightful friction between their bodies. 

Jon kisses the crook of her neck, and her hands close around his hip, encouraging his moves. He whispers sweet nothings to her ear, his breath rough and heavy as he moans from pleasure. Hopeless to lose herself in him, she tries to push down his breeches, but his hands stop her. 

“I want to make this good for you too, Jon,” she confesses in a whisper, and he cages her face between his arms. His brows are furrowed, he is about to contest, so she rushes to finish her thoughts, her voice sharp and sure, “Please, let me.” 

He exhales, nodding slightly, then helps her as she sets him free out of his last pieces of clothes. Her breathing is erratic, but her fingers are steady as she unties his small clothes. When she wraps her fingers around his cock, he closes his eyes and groans. Sansa licks her lips, focusing her attention on his goal to give him pleasure, to make this good for him. She strokes him slowly, and soon enough he is pushing himself forward, seeking her sweet touch. Fascinated by the look on his face - his mussed curls, wild around his face, his lips parted, eyes shut - she knows that this is a memory she won’t forget. 

(His body is carved in her heart forever.) 

Tightening the grip, she guides his cock to her entrance. He abruptly opens his eyes, because they were not supposed to go this far, he can’t spill his seed inside of her; it’s dangerous, but she needs it to be real nonetheless. Sansa gives him a warm smile because it’s okay, she already knows what to do when this fantasy ends. Once again, he understands what her eyes are saying. 

Her calves press onto his arse as he thrusts into her for the first time. He waits for a beat, she nods lightly, and he picks up an enjoyable pace - sometimes slow, then fast, then slow again. When he pulls out, then pushes in again, deep and intense, her whole body contracts for the second time. He narrows his eyes to watch her peak, fighting his urge to give in as well. But then she moans his name, and he collapses on her breasts with one long last thrust as she feels his seed penetrate her. 

Sansa moves her hands up and down his spine and he lets himself float away, just like her. He looks at her then, his gaze intense - just like the two of them -, and she can tell that he wants to say something, but is not sure if he should. 

“Sansa,” he starts, caressing her flushed cheeks.

“No, shush,” she cuts him off, shooking her head. “I can’t hear it,” she manages to give him a sad smile, then rustles, “Not yet.” 

(Not when you’re leaving and when I don’t know if you’re ever coming back to me.) 

So he kisses her instead, slow and passionate, trying to confess his feelings with actions. But she didn’t need any proof at all; she had felt everything already. Jon moves to her side, pulling her body for a hug and she rests her head on his thick chest. Sometimes she tilts her head, the corner of her eyes catching his features. She doesn’t want to look at anything else now that she’s seen him like this: relaxed and young and truthful. 

He doesn’t carry the weight of the world on his shoulders when he lays next to her. He doesn’t think of anything else but her, between his arms, in this room. There’s no kingdom to rule, no lover to trick, no game to play. It’s just her, a thousand of scars that tell her story, her silky skin, and her birthmarks and freckles and moles. It’s just him, another thousand of scars that tell his story, that he’s lived upon them, his chest hair and birthmarks. It’s all of her, all of him, together. 

And just like that, it hits her. They are the same. Opposite journeys, that’s true, but they are the same. 

And perhaps that is why the pull had always been this strong. Perhaps that’s why her legs entwine just fine with his own, and why her body fits perfectly by his side. Perhaps that’s why he is the first one to hold her, touch her, love her without hurting. Perhaps that’s why he is the only one who can. 

(Perhaps that’s why this feels so right, even if it’s wrong.) 

She sighs. The moon tea waits for her on her bedside table, he has to leave her solar, and her fantasy will turn back into the hard reality by any minute now, and soon enough they will only exist in her mind. She knows all of this, for it’s the reason she allowed herself to live her daydream once, only once, before it all crashes down again. 

Sansa wonders if this was the right decision, but then his arms tighten around her waist, and she holds him fiercely, as if she was trying to merge her body on his own. 

(She never wants to leave.) 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank TS for releasing another jonsa song, lol. This idea's been stuck in my mind since I first listened to "Daylight", hence the title of this fic. It just fits Sansa’s journey so much. So when I finally had time to put my thoughts into words, I did in just one sit. I apologize for any mistakes, as this is very much unbeta’d and English is not my first language. 
> 
> Catch me on tumblr - I'm sansastarkw. :)


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